


How Come No One Believes Me? (Believe Me)

by Fallenstar126



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholics Anonymous, Alternate Universe- Bar/Pub, Angst, Bisexuality, Demisexuality, M/M, One Night Stands, soul punk patrick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-17 02:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2293952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallenstar126/pseuds/Fallenstar126
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete had a routine in the morning. That routine went like this: Wake up, curse the sun for the pain behind his eyelids and the throbbing headache, get out of bed, pour himself a bowl of cereal while ignoring any notes from last night's man or woman, and watch cartoons until it was time for work. </p><p>It was a routine that worked like a well kept train, until it didn't anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The light was always much too bright after a night out at the bar for Pete. Even if his curtains were closed, somehow the light managed to wiggle it’s way behind them to create an ache behind his eyelids that felt as though they were tearing apart when he opened them. “Mother fucker.” He would mumble, and pull the blankets over his eyes for a minute, before his phone chirped at him, telling him that he either had a text message or an email that he would never check. He would then get out of bed, pull on a pair of sweatpants and stumble out to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water, covering his eyes as he walked by windows with the curtains open.

 

Sometimes he would find a slip of paper containing a name and phone number, but he threw those away most of the time. Some people didn’t understand the meaning of one night stand. Pete would work his way slowly through his morning routine, and plop down on the couch for some afternoon cartoons. He knew he was technically too old for them, but no one was around to judge him.

 

After this, he might go out and do something, but most days he just wrote until it was time for his shift at the bar that night, and get wasted once he finished his shift. This was routine, and it stopped the words in his brain from making themselves known in the darkness of his room, when he was most vulnerable.

 

Except, one morning when Pete woke up, something was different. For one thing, he was still wearing his clothes, but that didn’t mean too much, maybe he didn’t take anyone home the previous night, he couldn’t remember. It did happen, though it was rare.

 

Another thing was that he could smell food, which yeah, that happens too, but it was usually four days old chinese that he forgot to put in the fridge, not the smell of bacon and eggs. He stumbled into the kitchen, looking at the island in the middle of the room. A  steaming plate of food was sitting there, with a small slip of paper sitting next to it.

 

Pete strode over to the island, sniffing at the bacon carefully. He was 90% sure that he didn’t have any bacon the previous morning, and hadn’t had time to go shopping for any since then.

 

After a moment of suspicion, he just shrugged and picked up a piece of the meat, shoving it into his mouth with a hum of appreciation. Its surprisingly good, far out of his cooking range. As he was chewing, Pete noticed the paper again, and grabbed it, noticing that it wasn’t just a ripped piece of paper with a number and a name scribbled on it.

 

It seemed to be a professional looking business card, with an address, and a phone number. Over top of this information was the name of the group.

 

Pete blanched when he saw the words.

 

“I don’t need alcoholics anonymous!” He exclaimed while tossing the card to the side, watching it slip over the side of the counter and out of sight. Pete rolled his eyes, and finished the kindly made breakfast, before setting out to work at his stupid office job with stupid ass people who will criticize him for the ink lining his arms.

 

Once he got there though, he couldn’t stop thinking about the previous night. Most nights if he had gone home with someone, there was a lingering smell of perfume left on his sheets. Last night however, all he could smell was his own disgusting breath, and perhaps some aftershave that he didn’t recognize as his own, but it wasn’t prominent, and was quickly dismissed.

 

The day went by slowly, but he soon found himself in the same bar he was in every other night, leaning on the counter and waiting for his favourite bartender, Patrick, before he drank anything.

 

It was routine now, to wait for Patrick before he started drinking. Patrick knew him, knew what he would order, and knew what was his stopping point before he got sloppy drunk. Patrick took care of him.

 

It also helped that he was pretty easy on the eyes, black apron causing his bleached blond hair to stand out, even in the dim lighting of the bar.

 

Pete quickly chased those thoughts out of his mind when he saw Patrick walking over to him, already holding his first beer of the night. He slid the beer across the counter, as he knew it amused Pete at how good he was at sliding just so that it was right in front of Pete.

 

“Hey Pete.” Patrick greeted once he was standing in front of him, taking the bills that were paying for the night to come from his hand. “Long day again?” Pete nodded, already tipping the bottle back and taking a long drink. “That bad, huh?”

 

“Terrible. Someone made fun of my hair.” Patrick rolled his eyes, but Pete knew not to take offense to it.

 

“You shouldn’t let those kind of people get to you.” Patrick told him, and turned his back, making a shot for someone else. “They’re probably just taking something that happened to them out on you, don’t take offense to it.” He paused, handing the man a few seats away his shot, before moving back to Pete while cleaning the counter off. “If it makes it any better, I like your hair.”

 

Pete snorted, grinning. This banter back and forth continued for an hour, until Pete was buzzed enough not to really care what came out of his mouth.

 

He tapped on the counter slightly, only enough to get Patrick’s attention, before speaking. “‘Trick, do you know who I went home with last night?” Patrick turned away once he finished, but Pete brushed it off as needing to clean the counter behind the bar, though Patricks face looked suspiciously red when he turned around again.

 

“No clue, why?”

 

“No real reason, I just found some weird stuff on my counter this morning. It was nice though, they made me breakfast.” He decided not to bring up the card that was also left. “I kind of wanted to find them and say thanks. For the breakfast.” He added quickly, more for himself than anyone else. Patrick’s face flushed a bit again, though Pete couldn’t tell if it was actually him, or just the lights of the club.

 

“Well, breakfast doesn’t seem to weird.” Patrick commented, making Pete’s second last drink of the night, but Pete waved him off, already knowing what he was doing.

 

“I think I’m good for tonight, thanks though, ‘Trick.” Patrick smiled slightly at the nickname, watching as Pete stood, rubbing at his eyes slightly. “Have a good night.” He told him, before the older man walked with a small stumble towards the door, getting into a taxi quickly.

 

Patrick finished up for the night, smiling and bidding his coworker a good night, and pulled on his coat and hat. He went home, rain starting to come down a few minutes after he entered the warmth of his apartment.

 

The place wasn’t much, but it was cosy, and just enough space for Patrick, since he didn’t own any pets, or had a significant other to worry about, and didn’t see one in the near future.

 

Patrick put his wallet and keys on the side table, and threw his jacket over the back of the chair, tilting his neck to the side, frowning when it cracked. He settled down on the couch and pulled the nearby guitar into his lap, planning to practice for a while. Only slow songs though, he knew the women he lived next to was probably sleeping, and needed her rest.

 

Pete however, was not having a peaceful night. Once he had arrived home he couldn’t stop thinking. Thinking of his life, of what has happened to it. He couldn’t remember the last time he had talked to his mom, or the last time he had gone out with friends without drinking involved.

 

Striding over to the kitchen, he bent down, picking up the card that had been lying there since that morning.

 

The next meeting was tomorrow.

 

Letting out a small breath that he hadn’t noticed he was holding, Pete grabbed his phone from its place on the counter, and typed the address into a reminder set to go off an hour before the meeting started, giving him enough time to decide if he really wanted to go, and get out there, with ten minutes to spare in case he couldn’t decide.

 

Then, and only then, could he lay down on the couch, too tired to stumble down the hall to his room, and fall into a fitful sleep.

 

By the time the reminder chirped at him the next day, Pete had managed to forget all about it. So, when a reminder popped up with nothing but an address, he was suspicious for a moment, glaring at his phone as if it had somehow made the appointment without him knowing, before he remembered.

 

Pete spent the next twenty minutes trying to convince himself that this is what he needed, that going to this meeting would be good for him.

 

He almost turned back a good three times on the drive, but managed to pull up to the address without much more than five minutes delay. Pete looked over the building, frowning slightly. Honestly, he didn’t know what he expected, since in every book or movie he’d seen with this kind of stuff, it was in a church. They didn’t tend to lie over things like that.

 

So, Pete opened the front door to a church, and was hit by a rush of warm air. He saw a small sign signalling that the meeting was downstairs, in a more open room, and made his way down the stairs, hearing voices from down the hall.

 

Opening the door to the room, he was all but ignored, everyone turning to look at him, some offering a kind smile while others stared blankly at him.

 

Pete walked in, sheepishly moving to the side where he could observe without being in the middle of everything. After a moment, everyone went back to their conversations. Pete looked around the room, picking out a surprising number of people he recognized from the bar, though it was doubtful anyone that he picked up was here.

 

Though, as he looked around the room, he did see a very familiar face walking over to him. “Hey Pete.” Patrick greeted, in the same voice he always did, holding a juicebox. Pete waved awkwardly, looking at his feet. Patrick frowned, wishing he could do something to ease Pete’s nerves, but only knew that he would be calmed if given some alcohol, since he had only really known him at the bar.

 

“What are you doing here? I never see you drinking.” Pete asked quietly, almost so that Patrick couldn’t hear him.

 

“Oh, well…” He paused, frowning slightly to himself. “I run this group. I got clean myself a few years back, and I like helping people save themselves from something that could kill a person.” Patrick looked at Pete, seeing a small frown on his face, and felt bad that he had caused that.

 

“Then why do you work at a bar? Isn’t that like a police officer selling an addict drugs?” Patrick chuckled slightly, nodding.

 

“I suppose you can think of it that way. I like to think it’s a way of finding the addicts and giving them a chance to help themselves. Though I guess you’re right in the selling bit.” Pete smirked, and poked a hole in the top of his juice box, and sipped at it.

 

“You know, this is the first time I’ve had one of these since I was in middle school.” Pete pointed out, to Patrick’s astonishment.

 

“What? How could that even happen?” Pete laughed at his response. “I make it a habit to drink at least three a week. Keep me young and full of life.” Patrick joked, his own box making a gurgling sound when he sucked on the straw. He frowned at the box, before removing the straw from the top, and tossing each into their respective bins.

 

“It’s almost time to get started, come and join us.” Pete was a little reluctant, but Patrick grabbed his wrist, and pulled him towards the slowly filling circle of chairs, pointing to the chair next to the head of the circle. “Sit.” He commanded, and Pete did as he was told.

 

Patrick took command of the circle, everyone stopping their own conversations to listen intently. He seemed confident, but not enough so to make him arrogant. Pete couldn’t help but think that he would have a great stage presence.

 

“Hey everyone, how have all of your weeks been going?” Patrick asked once the circle was quiet, and got back varied responses, though they all seemed generally positive. “Good, I’m glad. We seem to have a few new faces today, so I think it would be good we all go around and introduce ourselves.”

 

Pete almost laughed when the group of fully grown adults released a loud, annoyed groan. Patrick did let out a small, good natured laugh. “I know, I know. But how are we supposed to help one another if we don’t even know each other’s names?” Patrick pointed out, and eventually everyone seemed at least a little open to the idea.

 

“Alright, let’s start with you.” Patrick said, gesturing to Pete, who usually had no problem with social situations, but here he had trouble even saying his name. After a moment of silence, Patrick prodded him again. “You just have to say your name, it’s okay. No one is going to judge you here, no matter what your situation.”

 

Eventually, Pete managed to get out his name, and it went on to the next person. His hands were shaking, and he wished, oh how he wished, that he would close them around a cold bottle of whatever would get him black out drunk the quickest.

 

Patrick seemed to sense his discomfort, and sent him an encouraging smile, patting him on the shoulder slightly. “You’re doing fine.” He whispered, and Pete felt a warm feeling in his chest, though he ignored it to focus on the names. As it was, he had no idea who the three people to his left were.

 

The meeting went smoothly, and Patrick was putting away the chairs while everyone else was packing up whatever leftover food they had brought, and folding up the chairs. Pete was helping him put away the chairs, and by the time they had finished, most people were gone.

 

“Did you leave the card on my counter?” Pete blurted out suddenly, his face turning red as soon as he released what he had said, cursing his mouth for going against his will. Patrick paused, in the middle of tucking a book into his bag, and looked at Pete for a moment.

 

It wasn’t that he was ashamed of what he did, of course not. They didn’t do anything, Patrick… couldn’t. He couldn’t find himself doing anything with someone that he didn’t actually love.

 

Usually.

 

He had to admit, it was hard to pry Pete off his neck once he had helped him lay down on the bed, but he had avoided thinking about it until now.

 

However, Patrick soon came to the realization that he had just been staring at Pete for an unordinary length of time, without giving him an answer.

 

“Yes.” He said simply, and pulled the bag onto his back without another word, tucking a scarf around his neck and shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’m glad you took my advice.”

 

“How did you get into my house?”

 

This had been the question Patrick had been fearing. He was quiet again, trying to figure out what to say, but it was a moment too long for Pete. “We didn’t actually do anything, did we? Oh god, Patrick I’m so sorry.” Pete put his face into his palms, face reddening more.

 

“What? No no no, you didn’t give me a chance to explain. We didn’t do anything, don’t worry.” Patrick quickly said, holding his hands out and taking Petes wrists again, pulling them gently away from his face. “I promise, you didn’t do anything to me. You did ask, but I just… Can’t?” Patrick let go of one of his wrists, and scratched the back of his neck. “It’s hard to explain.”

 

“I got no place left to be.” Pete said, interested and wanted to know just why they hadn’t done anything. Every other time he took someone home, things happened, and he never saw the person again. But Patrick, he was different. Even after he had taken him home, he still looked after Pete.

 

“Well I mean… I couldn’t do anything with you, even though you were very persuasive in your methods, because I’m demisexual.” Patrick said, without much bravo.

 

“Demi-what?” Pete asked, completely confused, much to Patricks amusement.

 

“Demisexual. Not attracted to anyone, unless I get to know someone really really well, and have an actual emotional attachment to them.” Patrick explained briefly, rolling his wrist in the air next to his shoulder. “It’s not that uncommon, just not a lot of people know about it. It isn’t a hetrosexual thing either, it’s kind of like pansexual mixed with asexual? To put it very simply.” Patrick winced at the lack of grace in the statement. It was hard to explain these kinds of things to anyone, even those deeply embedded in the LGBTA community. Really though, it was a simple subject to understand.

 

Pete nodded, because it did make sense in his mind, and he understood that it wasn’t a choice, wasn’t something Patrick chose to do. “Still, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” Patrick shrugged it off, waving away the apology.

 

“It’s fine Pete. I have to head out, but I’ll see you next week?” Patrick was hopeful, but didn’t know if Pete was all that motivated to get better, or of he was just there because he was curious about who had left the note.

 

“I think so.” Pete replied, tugging on the strings of his hoodie, which seemed to be his only protection against the cold winter outside.

 

They said their goodbyes, and got into their separate cars. Pete felt… lighter while he drove. He felt better, like he was making the right choice for the first time in possibly years. When he got home, he spent the evening lounging on the couch and watching late night television, before he passed out.

 

Slowly, things got better. Sure, there were the nights that Pete went out to the bar, unable to resist the temptation, but he was getting better at stopping after one or two drinks. Patrick’s disapproving stare helped, making his spine crawl. One day, Pete managed to gather enough courage to ask Patrick out, properly this time.

 

It was after an AA meeting, and again, everyone else had left before them. Pete coughed slightly, getting Patrick’s attention, before clearing his throat again. He was nervous. He hadn’t done this in a long time, at least, without alcohol in his system, gracing him the chance to forget his awkward fumblings the next day.

 

“You hear about that new movie?” Pete started, and instantly wanted to slap himself. What kind of opening was that?

 

“Yeah, I’ve heard it’s pretty good, better than the first one, at least.” Pete nodded, glad to have found a shared interest in movies between them.

 

“I’ve heard good things about it too.” He paused, perhaps for a second too long, before taking a small breath to boost his confidence once more. “Have you seen it? Cause if you haven’t, I was wondering if you wanted to see it or something? With me, I’m not just asking if you want to see the movie by yourself, I’m hoping that you wouldn’t mind me bei-”

 

“Pete.” Patrick interrupted, ceasing his rambling. “I’d love to go see a movie with you.” Patrick smiled, tucking the ends of his scarf into his jacket. “As long as you’re paying.” He winked after saying this, to show that he was only joking, and Pete sighed in relief, breaking out into a wide smile.

 

“Great, awesome. Friday? I’ll pick you up at five, we can make a dinner out of it as well?” Pete suggested, and Patrick agreed. He tucked the ends of his scarf inside of his coat as Pete grinned wildly.

 

“I’ll see you then, Pete.” Patrick said, gripping Pete’s shoulder and smiling slyly. Just as he was about to exit the door, he turned back, as if he had forgotten something. “Oh, yeah. How ‘bout we make it so that if you don’t show up to the bar until Friday, we go? Only if it’s okay with you, if it’s too early to go cold turkey like that, it’s-”

 

“It’s a deal.” Pete said with great confidence. It was only a few days, he was sure that he could do it.

 

It was a day before he found himself sitting on a bar stool, head on the counter, forehead against the cool wood. “Oh, hey Pete.” Patrick greeted, cleaning out a glass. When Pete looked up, his eyes were red, and it looked like he had been crying.

 

“I called my mom.” He started, and Patrick nodded, motioning for him to go on as he turned to put the glass away. “She doesn’t believe me. After she hung up on me, I called my sister. She told me to call her back when I stopped lying to myself.” Patrick frowned, turning back towards Pete. “I didn’t come here for a drink. I just needed someone to believe me.”

 

Patrick almost felt like crying, at the complete hopelessness and depression clear in Pete’s voice. He looked so defeated, like he had given up on everything.

 

And there was nothing he could do to fix it.

 

It killed him inside, watching Pete put his head back on the counter, and fall silent again. He didn’t know Pete to be a quiet person, so the silence was terrifying. He knew of the thoughts that Pete sometimes had, the cupboard full of sleeping pills at his house. He knew of the times when Pete was tempted just to take all of them, and settle into an endless sleep.

 

He also knew that he couldn’t send Pete home alone, even if just to ease his own fear.

 

“Hey, why don’t we go see the movie tonight? I’m sure Tracy could take over, right Tracy?” Patrick said, turning to the other bartender, who sent them a thumbs up with a grin. “Yeah, she’s got it. So, movie?” He walked around the counter, and offered his hand to Pete.

 

“Yeah… Sure. That… Sounds really good.” Pete said with a faint smile, and took Patrick’s hand, allowing himself to be lead out of the bar.

 

Even if things weren’t okay now, Patrick believed they would get better. That Pete would cut his drinking habit, and give himself reasons to live, to see the sunrise of another potentially amazing day.

 

And Patrick… Patrick might be able to fall in love.


	2. Chapter 2

The movie was, sadly, mediocre at best, but Pete spent most of it panicking that Patrick wasn’t enjoying himself, that Pete would mess up and Patrick would never want to see him again. 

 

However, he relaxed a fair bit when Patrick leaned over, and grabbed his hand, smiling at Pete in the dark. Patrick squeezed once, then let go, but not moving far. He tried to focus on the movie after that, but now being so close to Patrick was his distraction. 

 

The movie ended, and Patrick lead Pete out of the crowded theater, reaching back to clutch his hand as they walked so they wouldn’t get separated. Once they broke free from the crowd, Patrick didn’t let go. They walked around the mall for a bit, peering inside closed shops, pointing at a few strange items in the display cases. Pete pulled his hand away at one point, worried that Patrick would be grossed out from the nervous sweat. He just got a smile, and a raised eyebrow as they headed towards the exit. The cool air hit them as the doors swung open, and Patrick bundled into his coat deeper, scarf now covering half his face. 

 

Pete looked down at him, barely having to look down at all, given Patrick was only a couple inches shorter than him. “Did you have a good time?” He asked, nervously twisting his hands together, and he could tell Patrick was smiling behind his scarf by the way his eyes lit up in the dim night. 

 

“Of course I did! You weren’t lying when you said you heard good things. Of course, there were a couple points that definitely could have been improved, and maybe I’ll think it was shit after thinking it over for a couple hours, but at face value, it was good.” Patrick said, nodding his head firmly with his last words, and Pete couldn’t hold back the grin on his face from how Patrick spoke so passionately about this. 

 

“Would I lie to you, ‘trick?” Pete asked, starting to wonder down the sidewalk towards the bar, tucking his hands into his pocket, only realizing his words after they slipped out of his mouth, and tensing, scared of Patrick’s answer. This entire night was a lie, it was supposed to be tomorrow they saw this movie, he wasn’t supposed to drag Patrick away from his job because he couldn’t handle his own problems. “I take that ba-”

 

“No.” Patrick replied, muffled from behind his scarf. When Pete turned to look at him with an unconvinced look, he repeated his point. “No, I don’t think you lied purposefully. Also, it was a deal, not a promise. I’d believe you, Pete.” When the words hit Pete, his feet seemed to tangle, and he stumbled, catching himself quick enough that Patrick didn’t even start. 

 

Patrick turned back to look at him, curious eyes staring at him in the dark, reflecting the light of a street lamp in his glasses. “You okay?” He asked, measured and careful. Pete didn’t reply, just pulling him into a hug. Patrick stood there for a couple seconds, confused and unmoving, until Pete began to move away, and he wrapped his arms around Pete, suddenly remembering their conversation at the bar. 

 

“You can do this, Pete. I believe you. I believe in you.” They stood like that for a little longer than was probably acceptable, Pete didn’t know exactly how long the hug lasted but he knew his fingers felt frozen by the time they pulled away.

 

“Hey, I probably don’t have to go back to work, Trish probably expects me to be gone the whole night anyway, do you want to hang out? My place is pretty near by, and I wouldn’t want you to have to walk home in the cold alone.” Patrick suggested, shoulders hunched as if there was even the possibility that Pete was going to refuse. 

 

Pete nodded, and Patrick turned the other direction, starting to walk. His hand slipped out of his pocket while they walked, and Pete curled his pinky around Patrick’s, grasp gentle and would have been easy to break, but wasn’t. They talked about the movie as they walked, criticizing the romantic subtext that seems like it was just shoved in, and laughing at the little things Pete managed to remember he had a comment about, but had held in.

 

By the time they got to his apartment, Patrick’s face was red from laughter and the offhanded compliments Pete kept throwing at him without warning. Patrick slide the key to the lock, quickly trying to remember if he left anything incriminating out, but didn’t have to think long, because he’s really never done anything that could be mortally embarrassing or land himself in prison.

 

He opened the door, stepping inside and back so Pete could enter, twisting his fingers in his scarf. “So, here’s home.” Patrick said, looking around the modest size apartment. There was sheet music covering the coffee table, and most of the sitting places had either a musical instrument on them, or a couple CD’s thrown haphazardly there for later reference. 

 

Toeing off his shoes, Patrick walked into the apartment, trying to shuffle the sheets into a pile while picking his guitar up from the sofa, face red from the mess. “I’m sorry, I had forgotten that I had been working on something before work, it’s usually not this…” Patrick trailed off when he realized Pete wasn’t listening, instead, he was humming to himself while reading a piece of music, a small smirk on his face. If possible, Patrick’s face burned even more, and he resisted the temptation to grab it out of Pete’s hands and hide it away forever.

 

“This is some good stuff, Patrick. You should be proud of it.” Pete said once he read through to the end, finally handing over the single sheet of music. 

 

“You’re assuming I wrote it.” Was Patrick’s reply, and Pete fixed him with a look.

 

“Patrick, did you write this?” He said, no inflection, and Patrick just shrugged, mixing that sheet in with the rest and then shoving it onto a shelf. 

 

“Maybe. Anyway. We didn’t come here to talk about music… Unless you wanted to?” Patrick caught Pete’s gaze, which had been wondering around the guitars and keyboards he had laying around, and it lit up when Patrick mentioned talking about music. 

 

“I wouldn’t mind that. I love music, ‘trick. I actually used to play in a band, but then that fell apart. The scene got nasty, and I moved on.” He paused, thinking over his next words carefully. “I’ve always wanted to try again though, just… never found the right people. I had the chance, right after the band had end, and some kid told me he knew someone looking for a band, a drummer or something, but I didn’t take the chance, started thinking rationally, and started writing.” 

 

Pete was staring at the ground when he spoke, but Patrick could see the lost hope in his eyes. He stepped a little closer, putting his guitar down next to the couch and gesturing for Pete to sit next to him. “You know, you can always try again. I know the feeling, strangely. My friend had told me this dude was going to come see me play drums, and then he never showed.” Patrick shrugged, gesturing to the instruments around them. “Just because one thing never worked out, doesn’t mean you can’t stop trying. At the bar, I perform at the karaoke nights, and I might even have enough money to record a solo album soon. You just gotta keep working for it.” Patrick smiled warmly, and Pete looked up at him finally, his own small smile on his face.

 

“Sing me something.” He said, and Patrick weighed his options, before finally picking up his guitar, running a finger over the strings. 

 

“What do you want me to sing?” Pete thought for a moment, before shrugging. 

 

“Whatever you feel like. I want to hear your voice.” He replied, leaning back against the couch and staring intently. Patrick swallowed past the lump growing in his throat, pushing past the lifelong fear of singing in public, and beginning to strum. He played through the beginning chords in his mind a couple times, before opening his mouth. At first, his voice was soft, acutely aware of the time, that most people were asleep, and Pete’s eyes were firmly glued to his lips. 

 

The soft crooning voice wrapped Pete in an almost physical blanket, like he could feel the words giving him a hug. He closed his eyes, listening closely as Patrick’s voice grew in confidence, swelling and falling as the song slowly came to an end. Patrick fell quiet again, humming the end riff of the song, and Pete opened one eye at a time, examining him. 

 

“Dude, if you always sound like that all the time, I have no clue how you don’t have an album yet, or even signed.” Pete said, sitting back up. Patrick shrugged, setting his guitar aside, and sighing. 

 

“It isn’t that easy, Pete.” Patrick replied, and stood up, walking over to the front door, tugging his scarf and coat off, and tossing it on the chair nearby, and wandering into the kitchen. “Want something?” he called out, grabbing a couple glasses from the cupboard. 

 

“Just some water, I should probably be heading back soon anyway, before it gets too late.” Patrick could feel himself being a little disappointed, but managed to shake it off before bringing out the drinks. He had no reason to be disappointed, it’s not like he expected Pete to stay for long. 

 

However, words were tumbling out of his mouth before he even had the chance to think about them, and their implications. “It’s getting kind of late, isn’t it? You could just stay with me for the night.” Patrick forced his face to be blank, but was grimacing in his head. He had no idea how Pete was going to take the suggestion, if he was going to take it as something more. 

 

“I wouldn’t want to intrude or anything like that. I’ll be fine to walk home, seriously. Don’t worry about me.” Pete declined gently, reaching out to take the cool glass of water in Patrick’s hand. Patrick nodded, and sat back down. 

 

It was a while before Pete actually left, the two of them talking about their lives, telling stories of their own separate friends, figuring out that they actually shared some of the same friend, dancing around the idea they both had had, that Pete hadn’t gone to meet Patrick all those years ago, and when Joe had brought up the subject, had made up a bullshit excuse and moved on with his life, never knowing what he had missed until now. 

 

“So… See you at AA?” Pete asked as Patrick walked him to the door, and heard him chuckle as he opened the door.

 

“There wouldn’t be an AA without me there, now though there be?” Patrick replied with an amused voice, leaning against the open door as Pete stepped into the hallway. He quirked a smile, and looked over Patrick for a moment, before stepping forward and leaning down just the slightest bit, getting closer, too close, and Patrick stepped back. “What are you doing?” He asked, and Pete stood back up, ready to flee. 

 

“I was just.. I need to get going.”

 

With that, he was gone. That was the last time Patrick saw Pete for the next month. He didn’t show up to AA, didn’t wander into the bar, already piss-drunk but still demanding more. Nothing.  As time passed, Patrick got increasingly more angry and offended. He tried talking to Trish about it, but she suggested that Pete didn’t want to see him because he didn’t get what he wanted, that he was upset that Patrick hadn’t let him kiss him. 

 

He didn’t want to believe this, but there was no other explanation that made sense. So, exactly a month after their date, Patrick drove to Pete’s apartment, anger rising as he got closer. When he raised his fist to knock on the door, he felt as if he could have knocked it down with the force of his anger, but he didn’t. He knocked three times, precise and quick.

 

It took a few minutes for Pete to answer, and when he did, he stank of alcohol. Patrick stared at him for a minute, ignoring the rush of relief that he wasn’t hurt, or worse, glaring. “How could you? Did it all really mean that little, that just because I wouldn’t kiss you, you just give up?” He accused, shaking his head in disbelief. 

 

Pete just stared at him, mouth moving as if to form words, but nothing came out, just astonished noises. “Patrick?” He eventually choked out, squinting at him as if he couldn’t understand what was going on. “What are you going here?” 

 

“Figuring out why you’ve been avoiding me for the past month! Pete, what the fuck?” Patrick demanded, stepping forward just enough to intimidate the other without physically touching him. 

 

“‘Trick, no… I’m not… I just-”

 

“What, Pete?! Jesus, spit it out.” Patrick hissed, frowning at Pete’s slurred words. “What could you possibly think of to make me believe you again?” Pete looked at Patrick with pain and betrayal, eyes watering. 

 

“Patrick, I didn’t mean to, I swear, I just didn’t… I didn’t want to disappoint you. Please, you have to believe me.” He begged, shaking his head to emphasize the words. Patrick crossed his arms, looking Pete over, staring at the bottle of whiskey dangling loosely in his hand. 

 

“Why?” Patrick finally said after a moment's thought, more concerned than angry at this point. 

 

“I just…” The tears were coming faster now, trailing down Pete’s face as he struggled to speak. “I couldn’t bear to see you after I started... “ He lifted the whiskey bottle, unable to stand saying the words. “I couldn’t bear to disappoint you too…” Pete couldn’t continue, tears falling too fast and a choked sob making its way out. 

 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay, you’re okay.” Patrick repeated, breaking and pulling Pete into a hug, unable to keep his anger up in the face of Pete choking back sobs. “Just tell me what happened, and why?” Patrick brought him back into the house, closing the door behind them and gently prying the bottle from his hands. He lead him further into the house, sitting on the couch and pulling Pete with him. 

 

“Now, tell me what happened.” Patrick said, running a hand through Pete’s hair to calm his hiccuping breathing. 

 

“I didn’t want to drink, I wanted to be good for you, I just… I couldn’t do it after that day, and then I couldn’t face you, not after you being the only person who believed me.” Pete shook his head, leaning into Patrick’s hand. 

 

“Pete, you know that I wouldn’t have cared, right? Everyone has bad days, a good majority of people relapse, you just need someone there to help you.” Patrick’s voice was soothing, continuing to pet Pete, whose head was now in his lap. 

 

“I didn’t want to disappoint you, ‘Trick.” Pete whispered, staring forward. “I didn’t want you to hate me.” 

 

“Pete, nothing about this changes my feelings for you.” Patrick said after a couple seconds of silence, and Pete turned in his lap to look up at him. 

 

“What do you mean?” Pete asked, blinking lethargically towards him, confused. Patrick searched his face for a moment, before leaning down and kissing his forehead. 

 

“Sleep now, you need to sleep this off. Also, you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

 

“I haven’t.” Pete whispered, shifting and getting comfortable in his lap. “Don’t leave?” Patrick shook his head, moving so he could lean his head back far enough that he could at least rest his eyes.

 

“I’ll be here.” Patrick promised, and closed his eyes. 

 

As he fell into a unrestful sleep, Patrick worried. He worried about Pete, he worried about what might happen between the two of them. He was scared of accidentally falling into love with someone who might hurt him. He wasn’t sure he could do that, not again. 

 

Just as he almost dropped into sleep, he felt Pete grip his shirt, making a small, fretful noise, and knew that he couldn’t just leave him. Pete needed him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to pavlovepete on tumblr for talking to me about this fic and getting me re-inspired for it!! Also for having it on their reclist, which made me so happy I almost cried :) :) I think there's gonna be another chapter after this one, so look forward to that!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my wonderful beta Jessica, you can find her here: http://jessivengeance.tumblr.com/
> 
> I am putting myself through college rn, so if you have a spare few dollars, maybe toss me a couple bucks for a coffee! http://ko-fi.com/humanwreakage


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